Dating Mr Dudley
by GStales
Summary: Mr. Dudley is back in town and he has eyes for Miss Kitty.
1. Chapter 1

_**Dating Mr. Dudley**_

Gunsmoke fan-fiction

PG13

not for profit, just for fun

Gstales

They circled the peak, striving, straining, he driving closer, she clinging tight, yet meeting thrust for thrust. The age old rhythm of life, hearts pounding, racing ever faster. Even as their lips joined, panting, moaning, crying with desire. Wanton need their only objective until at last they reached the summit together. Joy like a thousand rainbows washed over her senses. She quaked and trembled until the last wave passed. She lay in his arms, spent, replete, her heart filled with such tender thanks that she could have found so rich a love in this godforsaken country. "I do." She whispered softly.

"What?" He asked, wrapped still in that bemused state of male contentment.

"Love you." She replied. "I do love you."

That one word was enough to jar him abruptly back to reality. Like a dog emerging from cold lake waters he jumped to his feet and shook himself off. "I gotta finish rounds." He announced hastily, pulling up his pants and buckling his belt before she could even take in the fact he'd left her lying, suddenly cold and bereft in a now lonely bed.

That, she figured out later, was how it all started.

_**One**_

Daryl D. Dudley, the only son of D. Delmar and his wife Dolores Day Dudley and heir to the Day-Dudley fortune which included the Double Double D Ranch, a holding the size of Ford County, opened the saloon doors. Young Mr. Dudley had just returned from the Grand Tour, a graduation present from his adoring parents.

The handsome lad had journeyed the world, consorted with New York Society, eastern seaboard aristocracy and dined amongst European royalty but in all his travels, had not encountered a woman as beautiful and intriguing as saloon gal, Kitty Russell. He had to admit the saloon part lowered her a bit in his estimation, however, she was perfect for what he had planned.

The object of his admiration was looking anything but glamorous at this point of day. Her gown, even on this cold winter afternoon, was sweat ringed and beer stained, her hair had long lost it's will to stay within the confines of a provocative do and any face paint had been washed away by perspiration. Still, to Daryl D. Dudley's perspective she was a welcomed sight.

The January winds blew through the open doors and he was met by a cowboy chorus of, "Shut the doors!"

Not the glorious entrance he had planned, he pushed his way into the saloon and walked with a somewhat pompous stride to Bill Pence. The saloon owner was standing behind the bar wiping off glasses readying them for the next customer. Mr. Dudley hailed Bill with a nod, "Brandy." He ordered. "Napoleon!"

"Huh?"

Kitty moved to the bar with a tray of dirty glasses for Pence to wipe clean, she smiled her lovely though weary smile. "Sorry Mr. Dudley, we don't carry Napoleon, not much call for it here in Dodge. Too expensive. We have some Le Peu that's not too bad. You might want to give it a try."

He tipped his top hat, "Thank you Miss Russell. That sounds like an excellent suggestion." He turned back to Pence. "Barkeep! A bottle of the Le Peu and two glasses." He looked back to Kitty as he removed his black kid leather gloves, "You will join me madam? I so hate to drink alone, especially when there is a vision of loveliness such as yourself to keep me company."

"I could do with a break Mr. Dudley, I'd be happy to join you."

Pence raised an eyebrow. Kitty had worked for him for the past two years. Red-hair, blue-eyes and pretty as they come, she added a touch of class to the place. When he first hired her it was with the intent she'd be working both upstairs and on the saloon floor. However, when the young marshal in town took a shine to the new girl, it soon put a stop to her working the crib. Bill had no desire to be on the wrong side of the law. He figured what the lawman got for free was worth any loss in residuals, for it guaranteed Dillon would be keeping a protective eye on the business. Besides that, Kitty had proved to have a quick mind for numbers and since she took over his books his profits had risen at a steady pace.

"Why don't we sit over here Mr. Dudley?" She pointed to the table near the back of the room, close to the potbelly stove. She was cold. Now that the sun was setting the air was filled with a definite chill. "It will be more private. I'd like to hear about your travels. Your father said you've been to Europe."

Bill delivered the bottle of Le Peu and their glasses. Interested to hear what Dudley might have to say to Kitty, he lingered using the excuse of stoking the wood burner.

"It is true Miss Russell, I have traveled far and wide seeing the great wonders of the world, but they dim in comparison to your beauty."

Kitty responded with a crooked smile, she knew she was pretty, but she also knew when she was being fed a line of bull. Still and all, it was a salve to her ego, and Lord knew, her ego needed a strong dose of healing balm after the past two weeks.

So, she sat with the young man for nearly an hour listening to him expound on the highlights of his trip. She was content to enjoy the fine brandy, warm fire and the chance to rest her feet. It wouldn't be long before the night crowd started flowing in and even in the frigid cold of January, Saturdays in Dodge were never dull.

By the time a third of the bottle had been consumed Kitty was completely and utterly bored. She placed a hand to Mr. Dudley's arm, "I could listen to you talk all night long but I'm afraid I need to go upstairs and change for this evening."

He nodded his head in sad understanding. "Alas, I should be getting home to the Double Double D. Mother is still not used to having me back home, she will worry if I miss supper without giving her proper notice. Please, walk me out Miss Russell."

She did and as he opened the front door she caught a glimpse of Matt Dillon offering a hand to Miss Gladys Frumpton as she alighted her buggy. Kitty watched too as that young woman placed a small gloved hand to the crook of Dillon's arm and he escorted her down the street to Delmonico's.

Mr. Dudley caught the direction of her glare, "He's a fool. As is she. Miss Russell."

Kitty's eyes never left the pair, "It's no never-mind to me. None of my concern."

Mr. Dudley placed his top-hat on his head, and then reached out to tuck an errant red curl behind her ear. His eyes were soft when he asked, "Miss Russell, would you do me the honor of escorting me to Delmonico's tomorrow evening for dinner?"

She didn't even turn to look at him, "I'd love to." Her affirmative reply was flat. It was as an afterthought that she looked back to him and smiled.


	2. Chapter 2

2

Meanwhile, over at Delmonico's the handsome young Marshal sat with a smile pasted to his face as he attempted to appear interested in his current dinner companion. Gladys was a cute little thing, slightly plump, with black hair and dark brown eyes. She wore her hair in a cascade of ringlets that bounced and bobbed with her every movement. Her cheeks were dimpled and she had a sweet little mouth that could jabber nonstop for hours. At this moment, Gladys was going on and on about her friend Millie Wilkins disagreement with her new husband regarding the color and style of draperies for their front parlor.

The lawman's mind was not on his dinner date's prattle, nor even the state of peacekeeping in the Gomorrah of the Plains, no my friend, his mind was considering the glimpse he'd caught of Kitty Russell and Daryl D. Dudley at the Long Branch doors.

He'd heard Daryl was back in town, his old man had been crowing about his son's accomplishments since last spring. The younger Dudley had graduated from Harvard law school with high honors and had recently returned from a trip to Europe. It was the elder man's plan that his son would enter public life; run for office. "Why, that boy could be President one day!" D. Delmar Dudley had boasted broadly.

Matt scratched his head. So what was he doing with Kitty Russell? A saloon girl would never fit in with the old man's plans. An association with Kitty would sully the good Dudley name. D. Delmar Dudley would only accept a pure young woman of equal or greater social status who could partner in helping young Mr. Dudley attain his true potential in the political arena.

Gladys brought Marshal Dillon back to reality, "What do you think Matt, is Millie right? I think Millie's right and I think it's just horrid that her husband won't listen to her, after all the house is a woman's domain and she should have final say. If she wants purple brocade and pink tassels than she should have purple brocade and pink tassels, what does a man know about brocade and tassels ... don't you agree Matt? Matt! MATTHEW! Are you even listening to me?"

"I'm listening." He replied before taking a bite of steak and chewing it thoroughly, thereby negating the need to answer more completely.

Gladys continued chatting away about things Dillon had no possible interest in and soon his mind drifted back to the circumstance that had lead to this sad state of affairs.

Before Kitty Russell had appeared on the Dodge City scene, the farthest thing from his mind had been a permanent alliance. He ran free range, a man with a badge had too, his only oath was to the U.S. Marshal's office. It wouldn't be fair to settle down with one woman and the responsibilities that entailed. He thought Kitty understood that, maybe even wanted things that way. They were friends, they got on well, joked and laughed together. Why just seeing her smile was enough to lighten his load and there was certainly no other woman he desired in his bed with the same zeal he did her. Well, she'd sure put a stopper in that bottle. He still couldn't believe she'd used the 'L' word.

He heaved a huge sigh of emotional confusion. Gladys mistook it as a sign of contentment. She smiled back at him and fluttered her lush dark lashes.

Dillon didn't even notice. For his mind was still on that last meeting. It had been a spontaneous ardent exercise of lustful fulfillment. A look, a light touch, just finger toughing finger as she handed him a glass of beer, had sent a fire burning through them that only the most amorous consummation could extinguish. They'd rushed up the stairs, hand in hand pulling each other along in their haste to her room, dodging cowpokes, and gamblers in their hurry to tear clothes one from the other. Then in the aftermath, while their hearts were still trying to find a normal rhythm she'd said the word. He'd been more rattled by her declaration than anything he could remember. He had avoided her the next day, but that night during an attempted robbery at the bank, he'd been shot. It was just a flesh wound, enough to tear a good blue shirt and stain it red with blood, but nothing Doc hadn't been able to patch up. Kitty had rushed to his side and put up a fuss the like he'd never seen before. Carrying on like a hysterical female, she demanded he give up his badge before someone with a surer shot finished the job. This decree along with her earlier proclamation had been the final straw, as he saw it. A man had to take a stand, had to draw the line somewhere. In retrospect, he admitted to himself, he was a might harsh in his reply. "Look here Kitty, I'm a man with no strings attached to me, so don't go trying to tie me up in a fancy bow."

She'd stared back at him like he was talking crazy. She gave Doc the squint eye, "Better check him over again and make sure there isn't another bullet hole, maybe in his head or his heart."

Dillon sat up a little, which was a mistake. "NO one promised you a permanent relationship did they?" He declared, he was starting to feel a little woozy, blood loss will do that to you. He had a strong suspicion he was about to pass out. He sure didn't want her to be witness to that. "Best go on back to the saloon where you belong."

The words came out wrong, it wasn't how he meant it, but that verbal arrow had hit it's mark. Her blue eyes pooled and her bottom lip trembled for just a moment before she narrowed her glare and adjusted her shoulders. Her chin jutted forward as the tears turned to ice, "I'll do just that Mr. Dillon."

Physically, he healed within a few days and returned to his marshaling, but his late night rendezvous with Kitty Russell were a thing of the past. She ignored his presence when he entered the saloon and if they met on the street she averted her eyes or ducked into a store to completely avoid an encounter. He tried to tell himself it didn't matter. He didn't need her. There were plenty of other women in Dodge City. Fact was he was the most eligible bachelor in town, he could take his pick and have a different gal for every night of the week. Yet here he was sitting across the table from Gladys Frumpton trying to stick out the meal until dessert.

He'd been answering with an affirmative nod the whole dinner long without even a clue what he was agreeing to. It wasn't until the last crumb of apple pie had been fork scraped to his mouth that he realized he'd committed himself to another date.

"They have the grandest house in the county and I've heard there will be some very important people there. I wonder what I should wear? Chiffon or silk, maybe satin, oh satin would be divine, what do you think I should wear Matthew?"

His answer was the only thought that had stuck in his brain from the entire night's conversation. "How about purple brocade and pink tassels?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Three**

Somewhere betwixt the fantasyland of dreams and full wakefulness, Miss Gladys Frumpton floated in the arms of the man she loved, clad in a gown of satin, lace and whimsically trimmed with purple brocade and pink tassels.

Down the hall her parents Frank and Regina Frumptom snored gently enjoying their well earned slumber. Shoemakers by trade, they ran the humble but profitable Dodge City Cobbler Shoppe. Frank and Regina were respectable citizens of the community, attending church on a regular basis, participating in charitable causes and always willing to help a neighbor. A man could do a lot worse than marry into the Frumpton family, unless of course his own family had higher expectations.

**GSGSGS**

The winds of winter howled like moon drunk coyotes. Snow fell in a horizontal direction and the temperatures hovered just below the freezing mark on the general store thermometer. It was a safe guess there would be no bank robberies tonight. As a rule, outlaws were not partial to inclement weather. Frost feathered the windows of the Marshal's office. They rattled with every gust of wind and the curtains fluttered in response. The wood stove kept it warm enough for the occupants of the jail, but the young lawman in charge of Dodge City couldn't help but think there were warmer places to bed down for the night.

"Well, good heavens Mr. Dillon." whined Chester Goode, erstwhile assistant to the Marshal. "If you don't put a stop to all this nonsense right now, some other fella is gonna snatch her right up from under your nose." A veteran of the war, Chester was a tall young man with a bum right leg and a rather dense mindset. He sat reclining in a battered chair, his stiff limb propped a top the worn surface of the work table as he awkwardly plaited limp, soiled satin ribbon into a braided reata.

Trying his best to ignore his irksome companion, the lawman was occupied in his toilet preparation. He stood in front of the makeshift washstand, knees bent to allow his countenance to appear in the small cracked mirror hanging on the wall. His handsome face was lathered in soap. With one hand he adjusted his nose to allow the razor better access to the contours of his upper lip.

Chester's whine rose an octave, "Well, forever more ... don't that worry you none?" Dillon finished shaving and wiped the excess soap from his face with a towel. He reached for a bottle of imported Bay Rum and Lime hair tonic that had been a Christmas present from Kitty. It must have cost her dearly. Now, just remembering her reaction whenever he wore the stuff started his sap to flowing. He wouldn't have admitted to Chester his intentions for the evening, in fact he wasn't at all sure what his intentions were. He just knew he had a hunger for a certain redhead and not only for the pleasures her body afforded, but her laugh and smile too. Damn it all, he missed her! He took a deep breath and silently ordered. "Get a hold of yourself man."

Finally, he turned to give his assistant an answer, noncommittal though it was. "Kitty knows a lot of men."

Chester squinted and put down his handiwork. He stood and limped over to Matt Dillon, there he paused to take in the smooth shaven face, scent of Bay Rum and the clean blue shirt with string tie the Marshal wore. "Are you going over to the Long Branch to pay her court?"

The man with the badge scowled, "Not that it's any of your business, but I'm going to make rounds." Dillon stretched his frame, straightened his crooked string tie, adjusted his gun belt, grabbed his coat and hat and opened the door. The cold wind and snow came like a slap that stung his cheeks with it's power, but he pushed on out. He stood still for a moment surveying his town, eyes alert for anything amiss. The streets were quiet, even the sound of the Long Branch piano was muffled against the wintry elements. A few unfortunate horses were tied to the hitching rails, their backs to the wind and heads hunkered low against the force of the weather. Dillon stopped his scan just in time to look across the street and see Miss Kitty Russell entering Delmonico's Restaurant with the arm of Mr. Dudley wrapped protectively around her shoulders. The Marshal's sap abruptly stopped flowing.

GSGSGS

"I took the liberty of reserving the private dining room." Mr. Dudley spoke softly in her ear as they entered the semi-full eatery.

Heads popped up when the patrons realized who Mr. Dudley was escorting. The sound of tin scrapping stoneware stilled and the room was utterly quiet. With mouths agape, some with food spilling out, all eyes centered on the couple standing at the threshold. Kitty nodded at a few familiar faces. She smiled back at others and said under her breath to Mr. Dudley, "I didn't know Delmonico's had a private dining room."

Harvey the waiter wiped stew gravy off his hands and onto his apron. He walked up to the couple and gave a surprisingly courtly bow. "Right this way Mr. Dudley, got the room all set up fer ya, just the way you asked."

He led them to a door at the end of the common room and into a much smaller space. It was as she suspected little more than a butler's pantry. But, an intimate table for two had been set up complete with candles, lace tablecloth and elegant crystal stemware. A bottle of champagne was cooling in a sterling bucket on a side table.

She arched an eyebrow at Mr. Dudley.

He smiled back.

"I guess you took a few other liberties Mr. Dudley. Do I see a pattern developing here?"

Color brightened his cheeks, "Miss Russell, I would never presume to take liberties with you."

Again, the arched eyebrow from her.

A devilish smile tweaked his lips, "well, only with your permission, Madam." He opted for a quick change of subject. "Have I told you how lovely you look this evening?"

She was nobody's fool and the tone of her voice told him so, "Several times."

Now, it was Mr. Dudley whose eyebrows arched. He decided to play his hand closer to the vest. "May I take your wrap?" She turned her back to him so he could slide the fur trimmed cape from her shoulders. When she pivoted around to face him he couldn't help but smile. So much for a poker face. She truly was a vision. She wore a dark green satin gown with tiny sequins that sparkled in the candle light. No doubt it was a cheap imitation of something out of an old fashion periodical. Still, the hue and form fitting style suited her to perfection. The shades of green played off the russet of her hair and her creamy smooth complexion. A man would be a fool not to be moved by such a tempting sight.

She veiled her eyes beneath lush lashes. She had read the message written in the look he gave her and the slight catch to his breathing. She felt empowered in the knowledge he was attracted to her beauty. An ace in the hole was a valuable commodity. Kitty, ever the gambler wouldn't forget she held the high card. The secret was in playing it at the most opportune moment.

He held out the chair for her and then took his own. "You look very nice tonight, too." She complimented. It was an understatement. Mr. Dudley was a handsome man in a polished eastern sort of way. He wore a dark suit of the finest cloth and a ruffled white linen shirt that was prettier than anything she owned, and most likely cost more too. At his neck was a perfectly executed bow tie of black silk. He was stunning in his own right.

Sophie, the kitchen girl had been recruited as their private waitress. She wore a starched white apron that was clearly not from Delmonico's stock and her usually unruly hair had been tamed to a tight bun at the nape of her neck. She carried in her arms, a silver tray with a variety of appetizers on it. She held the tray out for Kitty's perusal. "I don't recall seeing these on the menu before." Kitty commented.

Mr. Dudley looked a tad chagrinned, "Um ... as I said I took the ..."

"liberty." She finished for him and they both laughed with an easy conviviality.

"Might I interest you in a glass of champagne? Lafite de Rothschild - from my father's private stock."

"I can't remember the last time I had good champagne." Her mouth lifted in a flirty curl, "I love the way the bubbles tickle my nose."

"This will be a treat for you then." He stood again and took the linen napkin that had been placed next to the ice bucket, he picked up first one fluted glass and then the other meticulously removing any hint of lint or dust. With the linen napkin still in hand he removed the bottle from the sterling ice cooler. He gently eased the cork on the expensive bottle of libation. He glanced up at her, "The idea is to produce a 'contented sigh' from the champagne rather than a pop. This will insure maximum ... bubbles to tickle that delightful nose of yours."

He gave a twist and the cork popped hitting the ceiling and then ricocheted off the wall. They both laughed again, enjoying the humour of the moment.

He gave her a wicked wink and a teasing smile with teeth so perfect they could have been carved from pearls, "I may need to find something else to tickle your nose."

Mr. Dudley picked up a fluted etched glass, tilted it just so, and then filled it. He did the same with the second glass and then handed the first one to her. "May I offer a toast?" He asked holding his glass in front of him.

"Please do."

"To our happy future, may it prove fruitful for us both." Their glasses clinked together and they each took a sip, the sparkling wine still had enough bubble to tickled her nose. She looked at Mr. Dudley over the rim of the glass and as she did the image of her friend the Marshal passed before her mind's eye. She felt a wave of guilt, however, the image of Gladys Frumptom followed close behind putting an end to her remorse.


	4. Chapter 4

**Four**

Mr. Dudley walked her back to the Long Branch through the swirling snow. The boardwalk was icy and she relied on his support to keep her from falling.

It was only nine o'clock when they reached the saloon but Bill Pence was at the doors ready to lock up for the night. "Slow," he explained, "even for a Sunday." Dodge City Ordinance decreed saloons and other palaces of pleasure were allowed to be open between the hours of 3:00 P.M. and 10:30 P.M. on the Sabbath. Bill gave Mr. Dudley the once over and then looked at Kitty. "Mr. Dudley coming in for a nightcap?" He asked.

"No." Kitty replied. She smiled into Mr. Dudley's eyes. "I think we took care of that at Delmonico's. I'll be right in and I'll see to locking up the place."

Bill Pence gave Mr. Dudley the once over and then said good night, leaving from the side door.

Mr. Dudley took Kitty's hands in his. "I should really let you get inside and out of this cold."

"Oh, I don't know. Now that the wind has stopped howling and the snow is falling so gently, it's really kind of pretty out. There's something about the snow that makes you forget about the fact you live in a dirty cow town."

His eyes changed and he looked almost guilty when he asked, "Don't you ever want to get out of this place? It's clear to see you weren't raised for this kind of life."

"I was raised to be a survivor. It hasn't always been pretty." She smiled, there was no regret to her honest words. The moonlight and gaslight illuminated her classic beauty. "You're right though, there are times, lately especially, that I wonder why it's so important I stay here in Dodge City." She shivered despite the claim she was enjoying the evening air.

He squeezed her hands a little tighter and then bent down to give her cheek a tender kiss. "I have business to attend to this week, but, please say you will accompany me to next Sunday's service."

"I'm not much for church going ... seems to be a large part of the Dodge community that doesn't think it appropriate for sinners to attend."

"The world is full of hypocrites. Maybe between the two of us we can teach them a lesson." He kissed her again, this time very softly on her lips. "Think about me this week, as I know I will think of you." Their lips joined again, this kiss longer, when he released their union, he said, "I will pick you up Sunday morning at 9:00 A.M."

She hesitated for a moment savoring his kisses. They were without need or hunger and yet very satisfying.

"Good night." She replied in a breathy whisper.

**GS GS GS**

From a certain angle looking out the Jailhouse window, the Marshal was able to see the Long Branch front door. The strong features of his masculine face hardened and his mouth set slightly off kilter. Jealously, although he did not recognize it as such, surged through his core.

He had just returned from his rounds stopping at the Trails End and the Bull's Head, and finally fending off the advances of several saloon gals including Tilly McGillie the voluptuous blond hostess at the Lady Gay. Miss Tilly could have her choice of any cowpoke in town. She was after bigger fish and had her line set for Matt Dillon. He hadn't gone for the bait and poor Tilly was left with nothing but a few miserable crawdads to pick from. Now feeling alone and unloved the lawman wished he would have taken her; hook, line and sinker.

He pulled the shades, removed his gun belt and hung it on the back of the chair next to his cot, making sure it was within easy reach. He barred the door and then sat down on the narrow metal bed to remove his boots. A chill ran through him and he realized the fire in the stove was down to a few smoldering embers. He arose in his stocking feet and padded across the room to stick another log in the small chamber. The log just sat there, not catching fire and the room grew colder. He didn't have the heart to fight with it. He reached for his bottom desk drawer and removed a bottle of whiskey. He popped off the cork and took a good swallow before returning it to its resting place. Warmth tonight would have to come from that small solace.

**GS GS GS**

Gladys stopped by his office early the next morning. She was dressed in a red wool cape with white rabbit trim and a matching muff. She reminded of the picture on a Dr. Jayne's Expectorant Trade Card he'd seen at the General Store. To complete the picture she had a basket on her arm. "I made some potato bread this morning. It's still warm - fresh from the oven. I thought you might like a loaf. There's some of my boysenberry jam to go with it and a small crock of fresh turned butter." She smiled and her dimples appeared. She extracted two plates, some silverware and a couple of red gingham napkins.

He hadn't shaved yet and his hair was still mussed from a restless sleep. Gladys took in his rough appearance, "Goodness, were you out chasing the bad guys last night? Well, it's a good thing I came by. Here you just sit right down at your table. I'll get some coffee brewing and you can start right in on that potato bread."

She was fussing over him and for some reason he was enjoying the attention. The warm sweet bread in his belly after a cold lonely night was just the right tonic. He forgot the fact Gladys annoyed him, for a happy stomach can make a man agreeable to most anything. She returned to the table with two cups of fresh coffee and sat in the chair opposite him. "Now don't you be forgetting you promised to take me to the Dudley's ball in two weeks. Miss Helgemoe, the dressmaker has my gown almost finished. I hope you won't be too disappointed." She looked up at him and batted her long eyelashes, "Miss Helgemoe didn't use purple brocade or pink tassels." She giggled and he found himself smiling back.

It was later, after she'd gone that he realized he had committed himself to escorting Gladys Frumpton to the big shindig the Dudley's were planning. Undoubtedly, he would see a certain redhead there on the arm of Dodge City's very own gift to humanity. Suddenly, the potato dough felt like a ten pound weight pressing down on his lower gut.

**GS GS GS**

Meanwhile, back at the Long Branch, Junior Elway, the delivery boy at the General Store came by with a large box wrapped in fancy paper and tied up in a big blue satin ribbon. "Delivery for Miss Kitty." He explained to Bill Pence, who was setting up chairs for the day's business.

"She ain't up yet." Pence told Junior, "but, I'll see she gets it."

Junior hesitated. "Mr. Dudley said to make sure I gave it directly to Miss Kitty."

Bill dug in his pocket and pulled out a nickle. "I said I'd see that she got it Junior." He grabbed the package and stuck the coin in the boy's hand. "Now go on with you. You won't be old enough to be in a place like this for another three years. Don't forget to shut that door behind you."

Junior left with a slam. Pence carried the box to the bar and studied it. He gave it a little shake and was almost tempted to untie the bow and remove the paper to see what was hidden inside. He noticed there was an envelope tucked under the ribbon. This he did remove. In a very fancy script was written simply, "Miss Kitty Russell."

The kettle on the pot belly stove at the back of the room was whistling and he was just about to take the envelope over to steam it when the door to Kitty Russell's room at the top of the stairs opened.

"Morning Bill." She said, as she came down the stairs. "What have you got there?"

The envelope was in his hand. "Um ... Junior Elway just delivered this for you ... envelope fell out. I was just about to put it back."

Bill was as nosey as an old maiden aunt and everyone knew it. "Oh how nice!" She exclaimed. She fingered the satiny ribbon and then turned to her employer. "Do you have the coffee on Bill, I could sure use a cup."

"Aren't you going to open it up?"

"Oh I will, in good time. I will."

Much to Bill Pence's dismay, Kitty Russell took the unopened box and her cup of coffee back to the privacy of her room.

The gift was packaged so beautifully, not at all like the last present she'd received from Matt Dillon. For her birthday, he had given her a bottle of cheap toilet water wrapped in brown paper with one of Chester's worn out riata ribbons for decoration.

She carefully untied the satin bow. She would be able to use this again for her hair or maybe around her waist to adorn a negligée. She was most careful with the wrapping paper as well. She knew this was the most expensive stock carried by the local store. She lifted the cover of the box and therein was the most beautiful material she had ever seen. Yards and yards of sapphire blue silk taffeta shimmered before her eyes. She reached out to touch it, to run her fingers over the rich fabric. From her lips came a sigh of, "Oh my."

She picked up the envelope and opened it to read the letter:

_"Dearest Kitty,_

_My lovely lady of fire and ice, for that is how I think of you - flaming red hair and eyes as cool and blue as a frozen pond on a sunny winter's day. I knew this fabric was meant for you. I brought it back from Paris, admittedly with the intent of giving it to my mother for some special occasion or another, but when I saw you again I knew you were the only one who could do it justice. I pray you accept this gift._

_I have an ulterior motive of course, and it is the coward within me that requests this through letter and not face to face for I fear I could not stand to hear your words voiced in rejection._

_My family is having something of a gala to celebrate my return home, it would be my most ardent hope that you would do me the honor of allowing me to escort you to the occasion. It will be a grand affair, for my mother and father delight in such things. I hoped by the gift of this silk taffeta and the services of Miss Helgemoe to design and craft an elegant gown, I might entice you to accept my humble invitation._

_I do realize the more prudent among us would deem my gift as too personal for the short time we have known each other and will recognize my motives as selfish. I do not deny that. To me you are as a work of art and deserve all the pretty things life has to offer._

_Miss Helgemoe will expect to see you this afternoon to discuss ideas for your dress._

_I remain your devoted and hopeful friend,_

_Daryl Dudley"_

She set the letter down and removed the fabric completely from the box. She walked to her full length dressing mirror and draped the material around her body. The color was exquisite, showing off her creamy complexion and blazing red hair. The blue of her eyes intensified with the hue of the fabric, richer than any she'd ever owned before. She rephrased the thought. She didn't own it yet, and what cost would be the ultimate price she would pay to be gowned in French silk taffeta for one night of glory?

She debated her decision - going back and forth. The beautiful fabric and services of the dressmaker to fashion the material into a gown that would make her the envy of every other woman at the ball was a powerful incentive. The hard part was she realized not the fact it was an expensive gift from an admirer. In her life she'd received quite a few of those. The hard part was this was taking another step away from the man to whom she'd declared her love.

She set the material down on her bed and walked to her window. Standing at the far corner, she could just see the door to the Marshal's Office. As she watched, the door opened and out came Gladys Frumpton. Kitty scowled at the sight and muttered aloud, "Humpf, looks like Little Red Riding Hood is in cahoots with the big bad wolf!"

Her decision was made. Simple as that! She folded the fabric and returned it most carefully to the box, put the lid back on and grabbed her cape. Why wait until this afternoon. She was ready to get started on the fabulous sapphire blue gown right away.


	5. Chapter 5

Just a short little chapter.

FIVE

Miss Helgemoe's dress shop was located between the Millinery, and Frumptom's Dodge City Cobbler Shop and kitty-corner from Mr Jonas' General Store. It was in the retail hub of the business district.

The exterior of the shop was brightly painted yellow with cornflower blue gingerbread trim. In the summer the large window sported a flower box to add to the charm. A dressmaker's dummy displayed in the window was always garbed in the latest of Miss Helgemoe's skilled creations. Miss Helgemoe was a lady small in stature, but big in enthusiasm with a shrewd business mind. She owned two Singer sewing machines and during the busy season employed as many as three helpers who worked in a small room at the back of the store. With the Dudley affair on the horizon Miss Helgemoe's crew was running at full strength.

Every family with any social standing at all and a daughter of marriageable age was prepared to parade their offspring as a prospective bride to the Dudley heir.

Thus all available chairs in the pretty little reception area of the shop were occupied by both matron and maiden awaiting their turn for a final fitting on their ball gowns.

There was much secrecy in connection with design and fabric, for no one wanted to give away the alluring details lest someone else steal the idea. A double velvet drape covered the opening leading to the fitting room and only muffled voices were audible from beyond the curtained area.

Kitty entered the shop and the little bell attached to the door jingled her arrival followed by a collective gasp from those ladies of refinement waiting in the reception room.

Glances were quickly exchanged from one customer to the other with the unspoken question clear in their expressions. "What is SHE doing here?" Noses raised in self-righteous objection to even being in the same room as a saloon girl.

Kitty clutched her box closer to her bosom and leaned against the wall with her head held high making a gallant effort to ignore the silent disapproval.

The effort was only necessary for a moment before Miss Helgemoe popped her head through the drapes. "Miss Kitty! I didn't expect you until this afternoon. But, I am happy you were able to come in sooner. We have much to do and not a lot of time to do it."

The little woman stepped into her reception room and spoke to those ladies seated there. "I do so apologize for the inconvenience, but I must ask you to return this afternoon, I will be happy to take care of the final fittings then."

The ladies were in shock and started to voice their complaints but Miss Helgemoe shushed them by repeating her words, "This afternoon please."

The customer who had occupied the fitting room swept the drapes aside and proceeded to hastily button the bodice of her wool gown. Kitty recognized her immediately as Gladys Fumpton. The girl grabbed her red hooded cloak and muff from the coat tree. As she swept past Kitty Russell she offered a friendly smile and an almost conspiratorial wink.

There was a certain amount of grumbling as the waiting area cleared out. Two of the more prominent matrons of Society tried to voice their complaint only to be met with Miss Helgemoe's firm reply, "Miss Russell had an appointment with me today. You ladies did not." Fact of the matter was, Miss Helgemoe was a fine dressmaker and the only one in town to be trusted when it came to fashionable well crafted apparel. She could call the shots even if it meant serving the likes of a saloon gal.

When the last of the customers had left the dress shop, several throwing disparaging looks at the red head as they passed, Miss Helgemoe invited Kitty to the fitting room.

She placed a gentle hand around Kitty's waist and guided her over to a long table with cushioned chairs, in the corner.

"Please have a seat, we'll discuss what you have in mind."

Kitty placed the box on the table and sat down and Miss Helgemoe lifted the cover. "My goodness! This is absolutely beautiful and perfect for you my dear."

"The material came from Paris." Kitty said.

"Mr. Dudley told me."

Kitty became suddenly defensive of her position there. Did Miss Helgemoe think she'd exchanged the fabric for sexual favors? "What else did Mr. Dudley say."

Miss Helgemoe smiled. She was not a woman of beauty but she possessed a pleasant face of honest expression. "He said he was making a gift of the fabric to his friend, Kitty Russell. He wished me to create a gown that would do both you and the material justice."

"He must be paying you a great plenty to do so."

Her smiled widened and she fingered the blue satin taffeta. "He is, and I aim to see he gets his money's worth."

On the side of the table was a pile of _Goedy's Lady's Books_ as well as several pattern books and a French magazine with the words _Journal des Demoiselles Modes de Paris_. "Why don't you look through the books and see if you find something you like? We can combine styles if you wish, using the bodice of one gown and the skirt from another.

Miss Helgemoe opened a drawer at the side of the table and pulled out a sketch pad and pencil. She was adept with pencil and paper and quickly drew a woman of Kitty's build. She talked as she worked. "At the Dudley's Gala, there will be many extravagant ball gowns. I know because I've had a hand in the creation of most of them. Layers of ruffles and lace, bustles with drapings, necklines flounced in cascading frills and everywhere ribbons of rosettes and bows. My customers are requesting the most elaborate gowns imaginable, as if the more I add the more beautiful they become." She glanced at the profile of the saloon gal as she perused the pages of the fashion books. "Perhaps for some women this is necessary, but I believe with you Miss Russell, that is not the case."

Kitty, looking through the magazines and pattern books was becoming discouraged. What if she could not find something suitable? She had no desire for the fancy designs Miss Helgemoe spoke of. Working in a saloon, these adornments were part of her daily wardrobe. She longed for something elegant. The fabric deserved as much. Then, she came upon a gown so simple in design it fulfilled her mind's image. "What about this?" She asked holding the pattern for Miss Helgemoe to see.

"Yes! That is exactly right for you and the fabric." She began sketching the design to the figure she'd already drawn, making a few changes here and there.

The style was referred to as a Princess Gown. With off the shoulder sleeves and a deep sweetheart neckline. The pattern consisted of joined panels fitted and gored from shoulder to hem to give the design shape through seeming. The only embellishment was a wide ruffle at the hem and a modest train. The skirt was full and several crinolines allowed for the fabric to flow gracefully from waist to floor. It was a pattern suited for only the most beautiful fabric and perfect of figures.

"We'll begin then, shall we? I'll help you remove your dress and then I'll start taking measurements."

Kitty placed a hand on Miss Helgemoe's arm, "Will the gown be finished in time?"

"I will see to myself. It will be ready with time to spare."


	6. Chapter 6

**SIX**

The week was off to a quiet start in Dodge City. Young Marshal Dillon made his nightly rounds stopping at the Long Branch but never lingering there, instead having his nightcap in the company of the girls from the Lady Gay and then making his way through the cold wintry night to his narrow cot in the jailhouse. Most nights he was alone in the drafty building. The weather was too cold for outlaws and drunks, so the cells remained empty except for those nights his assistant Chester was unable to find a warmer bed. It seems the Lady Gay gals had taken a fancy to any man wearing a badge these days.

Miss Frumpton visited the Marshal's Office again on Wednesday morning, this time bringing freshly made doughnuts and a pot of her own cinnamon coffee. The big lawman felt compelled to ask her out to supper the following evening. She declined, inviting him instead to dinner at the Frumpton house. "Papa and Mama would like to get to know you better."

Little warning bells dinged in his head, but rumor had it Mrs. Frumpton was a fine cook and his belly longed for something other than Delmonico's daily special. His life was mighty cold and barren at the moment and any offer of warmth was welcomed. So despite his better judgement, he accepted.

Thursday, promptly at five, he showed up at the Dodge City Cobbler Shoppe just before closing, only to be met by Miss Kitty Russell leaving that very establishment with a package tucked under her arm. Caught by surprise, she looked up into his face and her blue eyes warmed and her lips softened in a smile until she abruptly checked the emotion. She pushed past him. Their bodies for a brief moment touching. The friction of the movement was like a small spark denied the opportunity to flame. They each pulled back as if afraid of being burned.

"Excuse me." She said in a cold voice.

He turned to watch her exit and a part of him longed to order her to stop. He knew it was of no use, for orders never worked with one such as Kitty Russell. Before he could mull the muddle of his romantic life any further there was a chorus of greetings from the Frumpton family.

He was ushered to the private quarters behind the shop, and fed chicken and dumplings, hot cross buns, chocolate cake and homemade wine. The sad thing about the feast was that he'd lost his appetite when Miss Kitty'd walked out the door.

**GS GS GS**

It had been a busy week for Miss Kitty. She had inventory and bookwork to help with at the saloon, along with her nightly duties selling liquor to Dodge City locals. She made daily visits to Miss Helgemoe's dress shop for fittings on her ball gown. At first the garment was just basted and held together with pins. As the week progressed the blue satin taffeta took on shape and style. On Wednesday the dressmaker suggested Miss Kitty come the following day with the shoes she planned to wear with the gown.

Kitty had looked over her meager selection of dancing slippers for something suitable, she had a pair that would be perfect with the gown except for the fact the heel was broken. She had scurried to the Dodge City Cobbler Shoppe early the next morning. Mr. Frumpton had promised the pretty young lady her shoes would be repaired and ready to be picked up by closing time that day.

It had come as a shock, seeing Matt Dillon dressed in his courting jacket walking through the door to the shop. Although, she supposed in retrospect it should not have. For she'd heard the voices of Mrs. Frumpton and Gladys from behind closed doors discussing dinner preparations for their guest. She could also smell the delectable aroma of supper cooking.

That moment of initial contact had warmed her icy defenses and for a moment she forgot herself. Her heart thumped a triple beat in her chest and warmth spread through her body. A strong desire to be wrapped within the strength of his arms took control. Then it all came back to her with a shock akin to being doused by a pail of cold water. "Snap out of it Kitty." She ordered herself firmly.

She summoned her most haughty air, "Excuse me." Pushing past him she flounced out of the shop. She could feel his eyes as the door closed behind her.

**GS GS GS**

When she arrived at the dressmakers on Friday she found Miss Helgemoe had made some alterations in the simple design, a fabric belt adorned with a large white satin rose decorated the waistline. Sequined dew drops covered the bodice and scattered into the skirt so that it sparkled with movement. "I thought we were going to keep simple?" Kitty questioned.

"Simple yes, but not plain, I've added just enough to really make you stand out in a crowd."

Miss Helgemoe helped her slip the garment on. The dress, which had fit so perfectly the day before now seemed snug. Kitty had to hold her breath in order for back buttons to close. "I'll have to cinch myself a little tighter." She said breathlessly, wondering how she'd packed on extra inches in so short a period of time.

She turned to look in the mirror. At first she thought it must be her imagination, but closer observation verified, the sweetheart neckline was taking a deeper plunge and the gown was definitely more form fitting. "I found enough fabric to fashion a shawl trimmed in the white satin." Miss Helgemoe said as she draped a narrow scarf over Kitty's shoulders.

"Did you take it from the neckline?" Kitty asked, only half kidding.

Miss Helgemoe laughed. "Mr. Dudley said to show off your ... how did he put it? Oh yes, your best assets."

Kitty turned and picked up the hand mirror to get a look at the rearview. She was definitely more exposed both front and back. The drop sleeves left her shoulders completely bare as well. Reading her expression, Miss Helgemoe explained. "I had to take in the bodice to make sure the gown stayed in place. There aren't many woman in Dodge bold enough to wear a dress such as this."

Kitty winced. "I had hoped to play that down a bit. I don't want to look like I'm advertising for Long Branch business."

"Oh believe me you look absolutely stunning. All eyes will be on you, especially Mr. Dudley's."

"Couldn't you hike up the neckline just a bit?" The saloon girl asked.

"There isn't time Miss Kitty. I still need to hem the skirt."

Kitty sighed. "Please don't make the skirt short, or I may as well wear a saloon dress."

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it. I'll make it the perfect length for ball dancing."

Kitty had lost a little faith in the dressmaker, although she had to admit the gown did show off her 'assets' in a most memorable way.


	7. Chapter 7

**Seven**

Miss Kitty lunched with her friend Dr. Adams on Friday noon at Delmonico's. She was dressed in a well worn grey gown, accented by pearl buttons and soft ivory lace. It was of good quality for it had been purchased in better times. Upon immediate inspection one did not notice that the cuffs were a little frayed and the hemline slightly tattered. She wore a perky little bonnet on her head, trimmed with feathers and looked to most of the restaurant's clientele, like a picture from a ladies fashion periodical.

"I've been worried about you young lady," the physician began. She was sitting across the table from him. His wise old eyes scanned her lovely face, looking for any sign that life was beating her down. He could find none and he was almost a little disappointed by the fact.

"I'm doing just fine, Doc." She reassured between mouthfuls of mutton mash.

"This thing between you and young Dudley, is it serious?"

She swallowed the mutton in a gulp. Her face grew gentle, her head tilted and her voice was tender in reply, "No Doc, of course it isn't. I'm no fool. I know I'm nothing more than a diversion for Mr. Dudley. But, it is nice to be treated like I'm something special and not just another saloon gal."

Everyone knew Doc had a soft spot in his heart for this young woman. What man wouldn't be attracted to a female with her physical attributes? However, it was more than that, there was grit and fire to Kitty Russell and Doc Adams could appreciate that. She had seen bad times, of that he was certain, but she didn't hang on to them as some folks did, using them as a crutch or excuse, or letting life harden her into a shell of a person unable to embrace life and love.

He reached out and gave her hand a quick pat, "You'll never be just another saloon gal and everyone who knows you, knows just how special you are."

She looked him in the eye, "Not everyone Doc ..."

The older man took a drink of his coffee and then swiped the excess liquid from his mustache, "He knows, he just doesn't know he knows."

Kitty laughed out loud with a snort that nearly sprayed the contents of her mouth in Doc's face.

The old man laughed too and made a show of wiping his craggy countenance with his napkin, "Speaking of young Dudley, I saw him at the Dodge City Cobbler Shoppe the other day. I thought you told me he was going out of town this week."

Kitty shook her head, "That's what he said. What day was that Doc?"

He frowned, his face turning curmudgeonly. "Let me think ... Bessie Roniger had a baby on Monday, Frank Beryl met his maker on Tuesday, Jack Fratt broke his foot on Wednesday. It was Wednesday."

The girl's eyes thinned and she tapped her lips with her forefinger before responding cautiously, "Interesting." In the back of her brain a niggling suspicion was taking root. Had Daryl Dudley orchestrated the sudden alterations to her ball gown and if so, what was he up to?

**GS GS GS**

It was a busy Friday night in Dodge City. A thaw had hit and although the roads were muddy, most of the snow had melted. Cowboys flocked to town after a month of being snowed in and they were looking to blow off a little steam and get their hands on something cold and frosty and something warm and soft. The local saloons offered both.

Kitty and the rest of the Long Branch girls spent the night dealing with the rowdy ranch hands, glad for the business and the extra change jingling in their pockets. Most of the attention was good natured and taken as such.

Clem Claper, a no account cowpoke, lately from the Lazy Daze Ranch had indulged in excessive libation. He was drunk. Under normal circumstances any cowpoke from this side of Kansas would think twice before setting their sights on Kitty Russell, it was common knowledge she was 'look but don't touch' goods. Maybe Clem had heard the Marshal and Miss Kitty weren't so tight any more, maybe he was just an idiot, nevertheless Claper made his move, "Hey Miss Kitty, come sit on old Clem's lap." He drawled. "I've got me a hankering fer a little lovin' with a red-haired gal. I always did want me a red-haired gal." The big oaf rudely pulled Kitty onto his lap. She slapped at his hands and tried to push away but Clem wrapped his arms around her ribs and held her fast.

"Let me go!" Kitty demanded.

Clem laughed and his nasty breath was enough to make her gag. "I'd give you a right good time Missy and I'm primed and ready fer action." He gave a couple upward thrusts with his pelvis and she could tell he meant business. Kitty wasn't much impressed.

She was getting mad. "I said, let me go!" For such a slender framed woman, she was suddenly all muscle and a good deal stronger than Clem had anticipated.

In response to her struggle, he squeezed tighter until she thought her ribs would snap. "Uh uh! Me and you is going up to your crib and if you treat me right, I'll treat you right." His unkind hand moved to her breast where he took full liberties.

Then, from the direction of the batwing doors there boomed a menacing voice filled with threat, "Let her go Claper." There was no question to the identity of the man issuing the order and all who heard knew the dire consequences which would be paid for not immediately obeying.

Before Claper could blink an eye Dillon was on him, Clem jumped to his feet and released the woman from his grip as he made a feeble attempt to defend himself. Poor Kitty fell hard to the floor.

The lawman grabbed the cowboy by his collar with one hand as he drew back his other to let fist fly into the face of Claper. Clem was propelled into a nearby table and landed with an ungainly thud in a chair. In a stride Dillon was in his face, "Get out of Dodge and don't come back. Don't ever come back, or so help me ... I'll ..." He left the sentence unfinished, but the dark snarl to his face left little doubt what Dillon would do the next time he saw Claper.

Like a snake Clem Claper sidled out of the building and then hit the ground running, slipping and sliding in the mud until he reached his horse.

Matt turned and bent to one knee next to Kitty who was still sitting on the floor trying to catch her breath. Threat was gone from his voice, replaced by that warmer emotion he was unable to define. "Kitty," he said, as loving as any endearment. "Are you all right?"

Her lips trembled, but she squared her jaw, "I'm fine." She lied, for her ribs hurt and she was sure her behind, so harshly tossed to the floor was already turning shades of purple and blue. "Help me up?"

He looked at her with such ardent concern that her heart nearly melted. As one would handle a delicate piece of porcelain china, so Matt Dillon lifted Kitty Russell to her feet. She had the strongest urge to fall completely into his arms and maybe let loose a tear or two accompanied by soggy, "Oh Matt ..." It was than that Mr. Dudley appeared.

He rushed through the door. Tossing top hat and walking stick haphazardly aside, "My dear Miss Kitty, what has happened to you, they said some wild man was accosting you." She was no sooner set on her feet than Mr. Dudley had her hands in his. "What manner of brute is responsible for this?" He demanded to know. "Marshal Dillon I trust you will find the scoundrel and lock him away."

Hurt, confusion and anger played against Matt's features. His voice however, betrayed none of the emotions he was battling. He was all badge. "He's been dealt with Dudley. I don't think he'll be bothering Miss Kitty here, for a while."

Mr. Dudley placed a protective arm around the saloon gal and led her to the back table. "You're as white as a sheet." He said with genuine worry in his voice.

Suddenly, she felt shaky as an aspen leaf, cold and clammy too. Mr. Dudley took note, "Barkeep!" He shouted. "Brandy over here and do not delay!" He turned to Kitty and eased her to a chair. She winced as her derriere made contact with the hard wood surface. Mr. Dudley knelt beside her, "Are you in need of a doctor?"

She shook her head and attempted a smile, "No, no sense worrying Doc. I'm really fine or I will be after a shot or two of brandy." She looked up to see Matt watching her. For just a moment their eyes locked. His asking and hers answering. He adjusted his Stetson and gave her a rueful smile, then turned and left the Long Branch.


	8. Chapter 8

EIGHT

He marched down the street with a purpose, his face wore a scowl and his fists were balled tight. The image of Kitty with Mr. Dudley beat in his brain with every step he took. Jealousy burned as a fire within him.

Matt Dillon was used to seeing her with other men, some looking at her as if she were a goddess, others with pure lust in their eyes. Kitty took it all in stride and as long as they bought liquor and didn't get too grabby, she treated them with a smile or a laugh. It was her job. She was good at it and he understood. She valued her face and figure the same way he did his skill with a gun. Sure, there was something about it all, that made him want to punch the lights out of any man who looked at her with desire in his eyes. But, unless someone was taking advantage of her, Dillon kept his thoughts to himself.

Where had that gotten him? Now, it was Mr. Dudley with his arm around Kitty, telling her everything would be fine. It never occurred to the big man that much of this was his own fault. Had he not been so skittish on the subject of love, _he_ would have been the one consoling Kitty and not Daryl D. Dudley. He made a low growl, his scowl deepened and were it not for his great self control, he surely would have put his fist forcefully in the face of the next fellow who gave him a cross eye.

That person came in the diminutive form of the town doctor; who was hurrying down the boardwalk, medical bag in hand. Dillon stopped just short of running the smaller man over.

"Watch where you're going." Adams grumbled and in the same breath, "Is she alright?"

"A little bruised ... looks like Dudley will take care of that. How did you find out?"

"Word travels fast. Cupsfard* told me. I was at Moss Grimick's, just got back from the Roniger place."

"Who's sick out there?"

"New baby's kinda colicky." He shook his head, "First time parents ..." he scoffed, "the way they carry ... " Doc stopped talking for a beat and looked at his friend. The physician's eyes clouded. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine Doc, just fine. You better go see to your patient."

Adams nodded, "I'll stop by your office when I'm finished and let you know how she's doing."

"No need." Matt said the words without any real conviction, more to save face than anything else. He had no doubt Doc would give him a full report and take some glee in the exercise.

**GS GS GS**

Back at his office, the young lawman sat behind his desk. A soft light flickered from the kerosine lamp, casting long and short shadows to dance around the spartan room.

He had pen in hand and blank paper in front of him, as he attempted to write a report he'd put off for the past three days. He couldn't concentrate and finally he set the pen down. Leaning back in his chair, he gave free rein to his thoughts. Something about this whole thing didn't set right. The idea of Daryl Dudley showing up when he did was mighty suspicious. No, it didn't set right at all. What kind of game was Dudley playing? Someone was bound to get really hurt in all this and it damn well better not be Kitty Russell.

Anger left his face, his eyes grew soulful and features softened. "Kitty." He said her name aloud. For the briefest of moments he felt her in his arms again.

**GS GS GS**

Meanwhile, back at the Long Branch, Mr. Dudley and Doc, one on each side of her, gently ushered the saloon girl up the stairs and to her room. She was eased to sit on the soft surface of her bed and there Mr. Dudley bowed and gave a gentle peck to the side of her cheek.

"Take good care of her Doctor Adams." He instructed.

Kitty's pretty face frowned, "This is a lot of fuss about nothing. I should be downstairs working ..."

"I don't think so young lady, you're going to take the rest of the weekend off."

She made an effort to stand, "I can't afford to Doc."

Adams put a firm hand to her shoulder pushing her back in place. "I'll have a talk with Bill Pence. Seems to me if you were injured in the line of duty, you've earned your pay for time off."

Her scowl eased, "It might be kind of nice at that, to sleep in late."

Mr. Dudley stood straight, "You haven't forgotten ..."

"What?"

"You promised to attend Sunday church service with me ..."

The frown returned, "Oh. Well, maybe that wasn't such a good idea. I'm not really the churching kind of girl."

"Nonsense. You let Dr. Adams take care of you tonight. I'll stop by and see you tomorrow and on Sunday morning we will attend service together." True respect shown in his eyes. "You are a remarkable woman Kitty Russell!"

"About that Mr. Dudley," Doc said, as he gave a tender look at the young woman. "I have to agree."

Mr. Dudley bowed again and said, "Until tomorrow Miss Kitty, rest well."

After examination, Doc declared her little worse for wear. Her ribs were bruised and her bottom tender, but Kitty had been roughed up before and most likely would be roughed up again. Like Matt Dillon's bullet holes, physical injury came with the territory. He removed a medicine bottle from his doctor bag, measured out a dose and stirred it in a glass of water, then handed it to her to drink. "This will make you sleepy, better get ready for bed."

The older man sat in the room's one chair nursing a glass of whiskey he had poured for himself from a bottle on her dresser, while she went behind a screen to change into her nightgown. If he had expected her to emerge in something fancy and seductive he was to be disappointed for when she appeared again she was dressed in a very serviceable white cotton gown with nary a sign of lace or flounce. He smiled and shook his head.

"What?" She asked as he turned down the covers of her bed and helped her in.

He swiped at his whiskers, "Not exactly what I'd have expected to see the provocative Miss Kitty Russell wearing."

She lifted her chin in mock indignation, "Well Curly, not every night is low cut and see through."

He pulled the covers up and tucked her in. His eyes twinkled and he gave her a wink, "It will be when I tell it."

When the old man stopped by the Marshal's office ten minutes later, he was true to his word.


	9. Chapter 9

**NINE**

Snow was falling again. The muddy streets of Dodge City were covered beneath a clean white sheet of snow. Gas lamps, at equal points along the boardwalk glowed brighter for the light. In the homes and businesses that lined the street, only a handful of widows showed the glimmer of kerosine, to herald the presence of some poor soul, unable to find solace on a cold winter's night.

A light burned in the Marshal's office. Matt, had listened with an apparently unsympathetic ear to Doc's narrative on Kitty's condition and how the kindly physician had tucked her in bed. The old man, wise enough to know he'd rattled the young Marshal's cage, left with a smile hidden behind the hand he used to swipe his mustache.

As he made his final rounds that night, Dillon was a force to be avoided. There was a dark storm brewing in his heart for Darrel D. Dudley, Clem Claper, Kitty Russell and even Doc Adams. His stone face set with such an evil eye that the mere mortals of Dodge City shriveled in his presence, unable to do so much as meet his cold angry glare. In truth, the lawman was disappointed by their lack of spirit, for he wanted nothing so much as a good saloon brawl to air his grievances. He closed down the Bulls Head and Lady Gay to a collective sigh of relief from the patrons. He continued down the boardwalk, his long legs making short work of the distance from one business to the other. He rattled door knobs with wrath enough to loosen them from their hold. After each task, his massive fists clenched and his glower deepened.

He headed back to his office again and there sat at his desk and stared into a pile of wanted posters. The only face he saw was that of Kitty Russell. It was fitting for he wanted her. Indeed, he wanted her.

**GS GS GS**

True to his word, Mr. Dudley had stopped by the saloon at 9:00 A.M, the following morning. "Has Kitty come down yet?" He asked Bill Pence, who was running a soiled rag up and down the bar.

Bill shook his head, "I reckon she's sleeping in this morning."

"Would it be agreeable, if I were to go on up and check on her?"

"Sure, why don't you take her a cup of coffee, ain't nothing Miss Kitty likes better 'n her morning coffee."

So with coffee cup in one hand, Mr. Dudley knocked on Kitty's door with the other. It took several knocks before he received an answer. It wasn't nearly as ladylike as he might have expected. "Whatdya want?"

"It's me Miss Kitty, Daryl D. Dudley."

She jumped from her bed with a start that set her bruises to complaining. "Oh!" she exclaimed, pulling a flounce wrapper from the bedpost. "Just a minute please."

Not nearly wide awake and a tad hungover from the sleeping powders Doc had given her the night before, she staggered to the door stubbing her big toe in the process. She jumped up and down for a couple one footed hops. Stifling a, 'God damn it," under her breath.

"Did you say something Miss Kitty." Mr. Dudley questioned from the other side of the door. "Is everything copacetic?"

She wasn't certain sure what he was talking about, but hazarded a reply anyway, through gritted teeth, "Fine, just fine."

She glanced at her disheveled appearance in the mirror, on the wall before cracking the door open.

He was impeccably groomed and smelled of some expensive European cologne that tickled her senses. His voice was smooth, "I do so apologize. Alas, I have disturbed your slumber. But, I bring you a peace offering of sorts." He pushed the coffee through the narrow door opening.

She was genuinely glad to see the coffee and took the saucer and cup without undue haste.

"Thank you." Her voice was low and husky.

Through the crack he asked. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine, none the worse for wear. Say, could you give me fifteen minutes to wash the sleep from my eyes, and get dressed and I will come downstairs to join you. There may even be some stale doughnuts left for us to enjoy with this stale coffee."

"Take your time my dear. I will go to the bakery and procure the freshest doughnuts and coffee available, for us to enjoy together."

So, they had coffee and doughnuts at the back table of the Long Branch, he talking about the pastries he'd consumed at the world famous La Maison Storer, in Paris, France, on his recent Grand Tour and she thinking she would give anything to be curled up back in her warm bed.

**GS GS GS**

Why was it she never had a thing to wear? Later that morning, Miss Kitty Russell studied the meager contents of her wardrobe cabinet. There were several saloon dresses; short in length and low in the bosom, a green and a black evening gown with sequins and tassels sewed in strategic places so as to market her contours, the shabby grey wool dress that had seen better days, a deep blue gaberdine skirt, sporting a noticeable spot and frayed hem, three shirtwaists, and a faded blue calico dress. She shook her head at the assembly. Truly, she did not have a thing to wear that was suitable for church services with Mr. Dudley, nor did she have the money to hike on over to the General Store and pick out a ready to wear gown.

She hadn't been to church since she'd attended Bessie Roniger's wedding, back when she first arrived in Dodge City. The whole thought of it made her nervous. Generally, she was a young woman brimming with brass, but something about a congregation filled with self righteous church goers, was enough to suck the brass right out of her. She made a face as she contemplated the matter and then stuck her chin out in defiance. Why, she had as much right as any of them to attend, more so, if you counted all the sins they accused her of committing.

In the next room she heard her coworker Ruby, giving one last ride to last night's customer with a rhythmic thump-bump of her bed posts against their shared wall. A light dawned in Kitty's brain. Ruby had an almost new yellow and black plaid dress (a gift from an ardent and well to do unnamed admirer) that just might work for Kitty's purposes. It would match her velvet black fur trimmed cape as well as her gold plumed bonnet. Now, Ruby and Kitty weren't what one might call best friends, but, they had a good professional relationship. Kitty had a strong suspicion she could work out a deal that would prove beneficial to both.

**GS GS GS**

Sunday morning dawned bright and cold. The yellow plaid gown had been freshened with vinegar water and ironed carefully. It hung in front of an open window to make sure the last faint odor of it's original owner had been completely eliminated. Ruby had driven a hard bargain. Kitty had agreed to do Ruby's washing for the next two months, as well as any menial chores she would be assigned around the saloon. No stranger to hard work the arrangement suited the frugal young redhead.

Kitty had taken time with her hair, brushing it until it was all shine and then piling it up, in a very dignified do. She had used only a minimal amount of make up, just something to make her lush red eyelashes black and highlight her pale brows, a touch of powder to conceal the freckles she detested and a dab of rouge on lips and cheeks, really not much at all. She dusted herself with Lily of the Valley talc and pulled the dress over her head. The fit was slightly off, for Kitty was slimmer of waist and bit more busty than Ruby. She used a pin to secure the bosom so no gape appeared across her chest. She pulled on her black velvet cloak, grabbed the golden plumed bonnet from a top the cupboard and blew the dust from the feather, before settling it on her head. Then, because she was a little bit vain, she loosened the tight combs and freed some of her hair from the constraints, so that lovely wisps of red curls framed her face. Taking a step forward, she studied herself in her mirror expecting to see a proper lady reflected there. Staring back at her was a very pretty, slightly suggestive, saloon girl, it was impossible to disguise the fact and remain true to herself.

She moistened a fingertip with her tongue, and then moved in closer to wipe away a smudge under her eye. A long time ago, not in years but in life lived, she had been groomed to be lady, circumstances had taken that away. She doubted if any fancy dressmaker's gowns or genuine jewels could bring it back. No matter what she wore or where she went the moniker of saloon girl would follow her always.

**GS GS GS**

Mr. Dudley's matched team of four in hand and elegant brougham carriage awaited our slightly tarnished heroine. She thought it a little excessive for just the two of them. He read her thoughts and with a wry lift of an eyebrow and a wink, he said, "I left the coachman at home."

She wrinkled her nose. He continued, "In truth, the coachman is with Mother and Father."

Her eyes widened, "They're going to be at church too?!"

"Well, of course they are. I want them to get to know you. We are invited to the Bodkin's home for dinner after service."

Her jaw dropped for an instant and then she replied with a sputter, "Oh! I don't think ... Banker BODKIN?" She glanced down at her frock and then up at him.

"Trust me ... It will be fine. You look beautiful."

At the church narthex Kitty spied a pew with room for two near the back. She nudged Mr. Dudley and then gave a look toward the vacant seating. He shook his head and whispered. "The Dudley family sit in the front. We have a pew with our name on it. Come." He encouraged and offered her his elbow.

Kitty mustered her bravado, elongated her spine and righted her head squarely upon her shoulders. She took his arm and began the long march down the center church aisle. She could feel the eyes of the congregation shooting daggers at her back and her only thought was to turn and run, but still she continued seemingly fearless to all who observed. At the front pew Mr. Dudley stopped and waited as she slid in and sat down next to his mother.

Mrs. Dudley was a tall thick woman with large ears and thin lips. She wore upon her head a large hat decorated with a stuffed red necked pheasant. Her gown was of the same iridescent hues as the bird. Around her neck she wore a stole made of five fox pelts. The pitiful creatures were attached mouth to tail and it nearly broke Kitty's animal loving heart to sit next to such a sacrifice. Surrounding the person of Mrs. Dudley, there loomed the strong scent of exotic floral perfume. It was almost too much for Kitty's nervous stomach to tolerate. The woman gave the saloon gal a disparaging glance as she scooted over to allow more room between herself and the girl.

Next to Mrs. Dudley, sat Mr. D. Delmar Dudley. He was of a shorter stature with a round body, bushy white eyebrows and friendly smile. The latter was proffered to Miss Kitty as he bent forward to welcome them to the pew.

Kitty offered a weak uplifting of lips in reply. The next ninety minutes were spent standing up, sitting down and kneeling then repeating the whole process over and over again. The sermon had something to do with the meek inheriting the earth. An idea Kitty found to be slightly absurd considering the company she was keeping. Her body still bruised and sore from her encounter on Friday night bore the ritual without complaint.

They paraded back down the aisle when the service was over and it wasn't until they were in the church yard that Daryl D. Dudley formally introduced Kitty to his mother.

Dolores Day Dudley looked down her long nose at her son's companion. Kitty held out her hand, and with some reluctance, Mrs. Dudley accepted with a quick hasty touch.

"Pleased to meet you." Kitty lied.

"Yes." Mrs. Dudley replied without giving the girl more than a perfunctory glance. She turned to her son. "We are expected at the Bodkin's, so please bid your friend adieu."

Daryl D. Dudley gifted his mother with a most charming smile, "Mother, I have invited Miss Russell to join us."

Mrs. Dudley's eyes fairly popped and her mouth flapped wordlessly for a moment before she regained her composure. Daryl D.'s father, Mr. D. Delmer Dudley boomed a hearty, "Wonderful! If Sonny hadn't invited you, I would have, Kitty."

On cue, Banker Bodkin and his matronly wife, Harriett appeared. Miss Russell was well acquainted with the gentleman. Mr. Bodkin spent a fair amount of time and money at the Long Branch and knew several of the working girls quite well, including Ruby. Perhaps, for this reason he seemed a little befuddled by the sight of Kitty's newly acquired gown. In fact, a flush rose up his neck until it reddened his face. He took out a fresh linen hanky from his pocket and dabbed at the sweat bubbling on his forehead. His hand shook slightly with the action. He cast a quick surreptitious glance at Mrs. Bodkin, to see if she was any the wiser and noting the blank look on his spouse's face, said in his most convivial voice, "Well, well, well Daryl, introduce us to your little lady friend."


	10. Chapter 10

**TEN**

The young Marshal had not slept well, it was becoming a chronic condition. Two drunks in the jail cells last night hadn't helped his insomnia. He'd given them breakfast and a pot of coffee and sent them on their way about an hour earlier. Sometimes, he felt more like a nursemaid than a lawman. The jailhouse still had the stink of stale beer and drunken cowpoke to it. The cells needed to be mucked out and the piss pots emptied, but he'd leave the task to Chester when he showed up for work.

For this reason, Dillon stood at the threshold, with the door flung open trying to air out his office and his olfactory receptors. He'd heard the clang-ding-clang of the church bells, announcing Sunday service was over and he watched as farm wagon, humble pony carts and sleighs made their muddy way down the street. Near the end of the procession was the grand carriage driven by Banker Bodkin, with the sullen faced Mrs. Harriett Bodkin at his side and their old maid twin daughters Lucy and Letty sitting in the back seat. They were followed by the showy Dearborn style carriage carrying Mayor Meier and his wife and daughter, then came the Reverend Sims, his wife and his daughter in a modest surrey. The regal Brougham carriage complete with coachman of D. Delmar and Dolores Day Dudley was next in line and at the very end the smaller partially enclosed Brougham of Daryl D. Dudley with beautiful Miss Kitty Russell at his side.

Dillon's heart took a nosedive to his stomach and he forced himself to look away. It was then he realized he wasn't alone.

Gladys Frumpton was standing at his side. She nudged his arm with her shoulder in a playful way. "Don't worry Matt, things are going to work out just fine." He looked down at her with a puzzled face. She winked back. "In fact, things are going to work out better than fine, for both of us."

His internal system of alarms started sounding and he almost didn't hear her ask. "How would you like Sunday dinner at the Frumpton house today? Mama's got a roast beef cooking and I made a chocolate cake last night. I'll even let you help me frost it. You can lick the spoon." Like most men, Matt Dillon's heart was ruled by three things ... and his stomach was one of them.

**GS GS GS**

The Bodkin home was the height of Dodge City elegance. True, it didn't hold a candle to the opulence of the Dudley mansion but still it was an impressive brick and mortar structure of the Federal design. In the summer it boasted a green lawn and flower beds complete with a cupid spouting water fountain. Built on the highest hill within the city limits of the cow town, the perimeter of the property was surrounded by an intricately designed black wrought iron fence, the gates of which, had been flung wide open to welcome the esteemed guests.

Once inside the home, their coats were whisked away by a servant and the ladies were escorted to a parlor with a pretty marble fireplace and dainty chairs. The butler, entered the room and offered the matrons a crystal glass of sherry to warm them up after the chilly ride. The younger women, though all over the age to be considered girls, were served warmed spice cider from delicate demitasse cups of a floral design. Kitty stood off to the side and gave a silent wish for something stronger. She would need extra fortification to survive this ordeal. She just knew she should have packed a flask in her reticule and rued the fact she had not listened to her inner voice.

If Kitty had thought Daryl's mother might take her under wing and protect her a bit in this overtly hostile environment, she was sorely mistaken. The senior Mrs. Dudley shunned the saloon girl and stood in front of the fireplace talking with the other matrons. Though not able to catch the whole conversation, Kitty was able to glean enough bits and pieces to make out the gist of their talk. Mrs. Dudley was apologizing for her son bringing a saloon girl into the respectable Bodkin home. Dolores Day Dudley avowed, she had no idea what was wrong with her boy, dillydallying with such a Jezebel. In reply, there was the common chorus of clucking and tsk-tsking to accompany her lament.

The younger women were gathered some distance from Kitty as well, all chatting about the upcoming ball, giggling amongst themselves and casting looks at Kitty who sipped her cider and tried to remain composed, but all the while thinking she'd like to give each and every one of them a piece of her mind, her fingers clenched, or something more physical.

The refined but slightly raucous good humor of the gentlemen in the library along with the aroma of cigars wafted to the feminine interiors of the parlor. Kitty imagined a fine liquor was being consumed and the rowdy talk would be more to her liking. In a bright and bold move she declared, "I think I'll join the men. Excuse me," and before anyone could utter a word to the contrary, she marched from the parlor and down the hall to the library following the smell of smoke and libation.

She stood in the French doorway, a brazen and welcomed sight to the men. She was familiar to all, and to some more than others, for in her very early days at the Long Branch, young Kitty Russell had entertained both Mr. Bodkin and the Mayor in her private quarters, although not at the same time. Daryl stretched out his arms as he walked to her in welcome. "My dear Miss Kitty, what a delightful sight to see."

She smiled and each of the older gentlemen thought her look of gladness was for him and him alone. They grinned back at the flashy redhead, each with a naughty twinkled veiled behind their middle aged eyes.

For lack of a better rejoinder and because there was some truth to the words she said, "I missed you."

Making an effort to suck in his belly, Banker Bodkin announced, "Well, well, it's my turn to serve you!" With a fair amount of pomp, he poured her a drink, whilst the Reverend Sims pulled out a chair and the Mayor offered a stool for her feet. Mr. Bodkin bowed in front of her, as he handed over a well filled glass of amber liquid, "Here Miss Kitty, I think you might enjoy this rye whiskey. It's a better quality than what you sell at the Long Branch, but I admit it doesn't taste as good, now that you're here it will taste a great deal better."

"To Kitty!" D. Delmar Dudley declared raising his glass and bushy white eyebrows in toast. They all responded in kind, saluting the splendid young strumpet with their felicitations. "To Kitty, the most beautiful woman in Dodge City!"

"In Kansas!" Said Mr. Bodkin.

"In the United States!" Said the Reverend Sims.

"In the world!" Said Mayor Meier.

Mr. Bodkin added, "The Universe ..."

His words of praise were cut short by the rude sound of someone clearing her throat with a loud, "Ahem!" Shortly followed by the shuffle of feet and rustle of crinoline and crepe.

The men looked up from their adoration of the saloon gal to see their wives and daughters standing in the doorway, arms crossed against expanse of breast, eyes narrowed, noses flared and there was not a smile amongst them.


	11. Chapter 11

**ELEVEN**

The butler, an intuitive fellow announced, "Dinner is served." It was a hasty proclamation, for the soup was still simmering and the clams on a half shell had not yet been plated. The company was ushered into the dining room and squeezed around a table meant for a much smaller gathering. There was little elbow room and considering the elaborate silverware settings, it was cramped quarters indeed. The table was dressed in starched linen, delicate flowered china and an abundance of stemware. At the centerpiece was an absurdly large and expensive display of fruit, most carefully arranged in a precarious tower as was the fashion of the day.

There were elegantly penned place cards indicating where each guest was to sit, all except for Kitty's. Her's was scribbled on an old novelty card from the general store. She found herself seated between the Reverend and Mrs. Sims. While young Mr. Dudley was situated across the table with a Bodkin twin on either side of him. Lucy and Letty squeezed in against Dodge City's most eligible bachelor, each vying for his exclusive attention.

Mr. Bodkin presided at the head of the table, barking at the servant and laughing heartily over some private joke Mayor Meier had shared with him. Kitty pasted a smile on her face and tried to recall all the seminary school etiquette she could muster up. The Simms' were good people and not overtly holy minded considering the Reverend's profession. In fact, Mrs. Sims made an attempt to initiate a conversation with Kitty.

"Tell me about your family dear? Were you raised in the West?"

The saloon girl was a local enigma, who, whether they chose to admit it or not fascinated both male and female residents of Dodge City. It is not surprising then, that a hush fell over the table as all ears turned to hear Miss Kitty's answer.

"I was raised in New Orleans."

The Mayor spoke up, "I spent some time in New Orleans during the war. I was stationed there during the occupation." He scratched his chin. "Say, are you related to Henry Russell, he had a saloon on the wharf."

Her neck stiffened, her blue eyes narrowed, "I don't believe so." There was nothing soft in her voice, but it was distinctly southern with a hint of defiance in answer. "You see, my father wasn't from New Orleans. In my early childhood, I was raised by my mother's family. Mayor Meier, If you are familiar with the Port of New Orleans, you may have heard of my Grandfather, Clayton Rumford. He owned a shipping business, exporting cotton to the United Kingdom and France. We lived in a beautiful home with lovely gardens on St. Charles Street. When New Orleans was captured, Major General Benjamin Butler commandeered Grandfather's ships and his warehouses were destroyed or used to house Union soldiers. Though quite elderly, my grandfather objected and was sent to a prison, where he died a short time later. The hardships inflicted on the citizens of New Orleans by martial law took a toll on my mother's health as well, there was an outbreak of yellow fever, Mother in her weakened state, succumbed."

There was a chorus of gasps and then Mrs. Simms asked, "Oh my dear! What happened to you, you weren't more than a child."

She sat even straighter, making eye contact with the Reverend's wife, "A friend of my father's took me in."

From across the table, the senior Mrs. Dudley, with nose slightly up lifted, queried, "And your father, he was fighting in the war? He was a soldier?"

Kitty laughed, "He was a gambler." She paused to take a long slow drink of the wine that had been placed in front of her, the transformation from seminary girl to saloon gal was immediate. "A damn good one, or so I was told."

The elder Mr. Dudley smiled compassionately, "Miss Kitty, who were you sent to live with?"

Her voice softened a mite, "I was sent to live with Miss Panacea Sykes. She taught me to always have a starched petticoat and a clean white hanky, among other things."

"She sounds like a real lady." Mrs. Sims stated before taking a sip of her red wine.

"Lady? Yes, she could be, but I believe the term madam is more appropriate."

The mayor absent-mindedly nodded his head remembering the sporting palace frequented by the Union soldiers, and then frowned. "She ran a fancy gambling parlor just west of the Red Light District, you were raised by _that_ Panacea Sykes?!"

Mrs. Bodkin nearly spewed her wine as the realization of what the mayor was saying seeped into her brain, "You were raised in a brothel!"

Kitty looked around the table. Everyone was staring at her, some in recoil, as if she were the very scum of the earth, but more showing pity. Pity was the one thing she couldn't stomach. It may have been all that was left of his legacy, but Clayton Rumford's granddaughter had pride. She rose to her feet. "Excuse me, I'm afraid I'm coming down with something. I seem to have lost my appetite."

Young Mr. Dudley stood as well and turned to the butler, who had just finished refilling the wine glasses. "If you would be so kind as to bring us our wraps, my good man. I shall see Miss Kitty home." He turned his attention to Harriett Bodkin who's face had pruned up most unattractively. "Forgive us for not staying, Mrs. Bodkin." Then, he addressed the rest of the table, "I will look forward to seeing all of you at the ball, and let us hope, at that time good manners will prevail."

Her guest of honor leaving set Mrs. Bodkin's heart to flutter. Her plump face flamed, "Please stay Mr. Dudley, that girl can find her own way home." She heaved her bulk to stand, thus jarring the table. The centerpiece swayed and wobbled, before sending an avalanche of fruit falling in every direction. The recently filled wine glasses took a direct hit, they hopped, toppled and spilled, dousing the guests with merlot.

Amid the ensuing commotion, the butler returned with their garments and Kitty and Mr. Dudley were out the door before any one noticed.

As they had been the last carriage to pull in the drive, it was an easy and swift exit. Mr. Dudley didn't say anything until they were back on the muddy dirt road.

"I apologize Kitty, it was unfair of me to put you in that situation."

Kitty removed a hand from her slightly shabby muff, and brushed a stray thread from the yellow plaid skirt. "About the ball ..." she began, with the intent to decline his invitation.

He placed a leather gloved hand over hers, "I shall not leave your side at the ball." He smiled at her, and said with a kind and cajoling voice, "after all, am I not the Prince and you my very own Cinderella?"

Kitty Russell had long ago given up on fairy-tales and considered the notion of happily ever after, the day dream of fools. Still, his hand was warm and comforting and she had to admit it would feel mighty fine to be the belle of the ball, even if a happy ending wasn't in the cards for her.

**GS GS GS**

The topic of children's stories came up on the other side of town as well. Matt Dillon was seated on the hard wood rocking chair next to the fireplace, in the parlor of the living quarters, behind the cobbler shop. On the chair across from him, sat Frank Frumpton. The elder gentleman, also on a rocking chair, was stitching the seam of a blue satin shoe. He glanced up over his wire framed spectacles, "With that fancy ball coming up, I don't have a minute to spare. Every gal in town wants her dancing slippers spruced up. Can't sit down unless I've got some work in my hands to keep my fingers busy. I could sure use me some of them elves they talk about in that old fairy tale." On the table, which sat next to his chair, were stacked a half dozen pairs of previously worn footwear in various states of disrepair.

"That so." Dillon commented laconically, the fire was too warm for his blood and sweat was bubbling along his hairline and trickling down his spine. His stomach growled reminding him of his purpose to be here. He could hear Gladys and her mother as they finished up preparations for the meal. The aroma of roasting beef drifted from the kitchen, and that, mixed with the smell of used shoe leather provided an interesting contradiction of odors.

Frank put the shoe down for a moment and studied the young man. "So Mr. Dillon, is it your intention to be a lawman your whole life long, or are you lookin' for a more peaceful occupation. Because, I'll tell you this. It is mighty rewarding to work with shoes. There's not much more important than a having a comfortable foot. Why, if your feet hurt, it throws your whole body out of whack. Let me tell you, I take pride in my work." He picked up the shoe again and shook it slightly, to make his point. "I have a good thing going here ... more than enough business for me. Folks know I do a good and honest job, my reputation speaks for itself." He leaned forward. "Now, I ain't got no son, just Gladys and I love her dearly. Any man she takes a shine to, well, he'll be like a son to me. All this will be his and I'll teach him everything I know." Frank smiled. "You got good hands Matt Dillon, cobbler hands."

The sweat was ringing his armpits now. The tall Marshal pushed himself out of the rocking chair, stretching to his full height. "Mr. Frumpton, if you're looking for an elf, better look elsewhere. I don't think I'm your man."


	12. Chapter 12

TWELVE

He made his final rounds that night with a full stomach. Mrs. Frumpton had given him a basket of leftovers which he took with only a twinge of remorse. He pacified his guilt by sharing the bounty with Doc and Chester later that day. Justice was served to some extent because now, he walked the near deserted streets of Dodge City, with a belly riddled by gas.

The temperatures had been moderate throughout the day, melting the recent snow until only the drifts against the buildings remained. The streets of Dodge City, which in the best of times was nothing to brag about were now frozen and rutted mud. He hated this time of year, the off again on again snowfall, the thawing and freezing and the mud which made everything more difficult.

He had checked the last lock on Front Street and turned to head back to his office when he heard muffled voices coming from the back alley behind the cobbler shop. There was a narrow walkway between Miss Helgemoe's and the Frumpton business. He drew his gun, pulled in his shoulders and began a slow and stealthily creep down the path. At the corner of the building, he stopped. Hidden in the night shadows, he observed two lovers locked in a passionate embrace. The lawman's stomach rumbled and gurgled and for a moment he feared he would give away his position. He clenched his muscles to hold back a possible explosion. With tensed body he studied the lovers in the shrouded moonlight trying to determine who they were.

It wasn't until they spoke, that their identities were revealed, "Oh Daryl - I wish we didn't have to keep on pretending."

"Gladys, my dearest love, it won't be much longer. Have faith, all will work out as we have so carefully planned it to. We shall be together and with our parents' blessings at last." Mr. Dudley replied and then claimed Miss Frumpton's lips with his own.

The Marshal took one step backward and as he did the moon, which had been hiding behind clouds appeared to cast a glow on the ardent pair. The two were lost to all but each other. Dillon scowled as he watched. Random thoughts of confusion, betrayal and even jealousy swept over Matt Dillon, along with one overwhelming compulsion. He had to tell Kitty. It was the right thing to do, it would be wrong not to. She had to know Mr. Dudley was, for want of a better word, a scheming cad!

He crossed the street and walked to the rear of the Long Branch, several upstairs windows were dimly lit in red, indicating some of the girls were working tonight. He noted no light in the window that belonged to Kitty Russell. He took the outside stairs to the second story and used his own key to let himself in. He heard the squeak of mattress springs coming from several rooms as he walked down the hall to her room. The thought hit him, even though no red light glowed from her window, what if he heard those same noises? He stopped at room number three and with his ear pressed to the door, he listened. Silence. Good.

He rapped lightly on her door, waited for a moment, nothing. He rapped again, a little harder this time, still nothing, finally he gave a full knuckle knock. "Go away!" was the chorus he heard from not only number three but rooms number two and four as well.

He tried to soften his voice to a whisper, "Kitty, it's me, Matt."

Now, he heard her bed springs. "Whatdyawant, it's the middle of the night?"

"I need to talk to you."

"Can't it wait 'till mornin'? Oh hell! Just give me a minute." The bed creaked again, he heard the muffled sound of her feet hitting the floor, the hissed curse as she ran into a chair and then the door opened and she stood before him. Sleep tousled and sweet smelling, she caused more than his senses to stir.

"Well?" She asked, standing in the doorway, blocking entry. "What's so important, you need to wake me up for?"

"Can I come in?"

She studied him, considering her options and then wordlessly stepped aside.

He took off his hat and twisted it in his fingers, while Kitty turned up the lamp and grabbed a yellow ruffled peignoir. Keeping her back to him, she shrugged the sheer garment on and tied a ribbon belt around her waist before turning to face him.

"Well?" She asked again and her irritation was apparent in both voice and expression.

He shook his head, "I don't know how to tell you this," and then he did.

She listened stoically to his revelation. With his last word, she moved forward, not to him, but to the liquor carafe sitting atop her dresser. She poured a drink and then as an after thought asked, "Do you want one?"

He shook his head and watched as she downed the whiskey in a single gulp and poured another. She was hurt, her pride mainly, he guessed. She turned her back to him, her head was down and shoulders momentarily burdened. He stood silently watching as she gathered herself. It was several heartbeats before she faced him again, standing straight and tall, "Why would they do this?" She asked, not with the self pity of a jilted girlfriend, but more the questioning of a clear thinking mind in search of a logical explanation.

Dillon winced. Their plan had become obvious to him, which wasn't usually the case in matters of the heart. "Clear as I can figure, Mr. Frumpton wants a shoemaker apprentice for a son-in-law and Mrs. Dudley wants an eastern schooled blue-blood dubutante for a daughter-in-law. What better way for Gladys and Dudley to get their parents to soften their demands then to offer the exact opposite of what they want."

She bit her lip and nodded, "You're no shoemaker, that's for sure and I lost any shot of being a blue blood when my mother fell in love with a riverboat gambler." There was an infinitesimal arch to her left eyebrow, her eyes narrowed ever so slightly and her lips lifted in a closed and knowing smile.

The change in her countenance so subtle, that most people wouldn't have noticed. He did. He had watched her play enough hands of poker to know when she'd discovered a weakness, an ace in the hole. "What?" He asked. "What are you thinking?"

Her smile broadened and her eyes sparkled with mischief, "What say, you and I call their bluff?"

He had to grin back at her with a look of frank admiration. Nothing kept his Kitty Russell down for long. She had an indomitable spirit and zest for living that made him proud. To top it off, she was smarter than any man or woman he'd ever known. He quickly amended his thought, she was not 'his' Kitty Russell. Right or wrong, he'd seen to that.

It occurred to him, that maybe he should have waited to tell her about Mr. Dudley until the morning. He felt guilt at disturbing her precious sleep. He knew in her line of work, it was a rare commodity and how she coveted it. "I'm sorry." He said.

The subtle eyebrow raise, the slight smile, although gentle now, almost tender - the look was there again for him to see, but this time, he missed it. "Sorry for what?" She asked, hoping for the singular answer that would have made things completely right between them.

"For being the one to tell you about this." He answered.

She gave an inaudible sigh and poured herself another drink. "I'm glad you did." She swirled the liquid before handing the glass to him. "Here, you drink this Cowboy, I need a sober head to work out a plan."


	13. Chapter 13

**THIRTEEN**

He rolled over, thumped his pillow and then regretted the action. He had a bit of a headache. It was nearly 3:00 AM and his mind was reeling. The whiskey he'd consumed at her place added to his befuddlement. Kitty kept refilling his glass as she spun her harebrained scheme. A scheme to which he had agreed. Now, in the wee small hours of the morning he tried to figure out why he had.

To be fair to himself, at first he had objected, "Kitty, I'm a lawman, I can't just go around playing games with people's lives."

"Oh for pity's sake. It's the dead of winter! Any outlaw worth his salt is spending his time in Mexico drinking tequila and having a grand old time. The Dodge City saloons are dead and we're down to one stage a week until spring. The domestic disputes of Emma May and Ollie Jackson can wait a day or two. Emma May can hold her own."

He tried to express his professional point of view, "I just don't feel comfortable ..."

She poured a little more liquor in his glass, "Listen here. Mr. Dudley is going to be an important man one day. He may even be Governor of the State of Kansas. Do you want a man, with that kind of power thinking he can just manipulate ordinary folks like us. It's up to me and you to nip this kind of thinking in the bud and teach him a lesson." She placed hands on hips and declared, "I like Daryl Dudley."

The lawman looked askance at the saloon gal, trying to measure up just how dear the Double Double D heir had become to her heart. She reassured him without realizing it, "Oh, I could never be serious about someone like him, but I think he's a good man at the root of things. The trouble with people like Daryl is they've never had to work for something, everything has been handed to them on a silver platter. Gladys too, not that she's lead a charmed life, but I think she's a nice girl, but it's not right that they are using us as pawns in a real life game of chess. What if we had deep feelings for them?" She paused to study Dillon with her own squinty glare. "You don't have feelings do you, for Gladys I mean?"

"No." He took a drink from his glass. "For Gladys?! Hell no!"

She stretched out her hands in supplication, "Don't you see, if you did, this would break your heart and for a lawman to have a broken heart, well that could end in disaster."

He nodded, he was beginning to get her point, foggy though it was. "What do you have in mind Miss Kitty?"

"Your part is easy."

Another sip, "Well, I'm glad to hear that."

"All you have to do is spend an afternoon 'helping' Mr. Frumpton in the Cobbler Shop."

"Now wait a minute, despite what you seem to think, I have a job to do." He tapped at the badge on his chest, "If I don't do it, it won't get done."

She shook her head, "For one afternoon you can solve Dodge City's crimes from the Cobbler Shop instead of your saloon of preference, or the pool hall."

He gave an indignant huff, "That's not fair!"

Her tone softened, "Oh hush, I don't want to get in an argument with you." She winked at him and worked an old ploy with a coy half smile, "I'm just teasing you."

He was a sucker, for he smiled back. "I'll be the worst cobbler's apprentice ever."

"Perfect, that's just what you need to be, the worse the better. But, all the while, be sure to tell Mr. Frumpton how much you enjoy working on old, worn out, smelly shoes."

He scowled at the picture her words presented, "So what's your part in all this?"

There was an energy to her now, born of crafty ingenuity, "My part is a little more tricky. At Banker Bodkin's Sunday dinner, I heard Mrs. Dudley invite all of the women to a special church meeting of the Ladies Aid Board of Benefactors on Monday afternoon, they're going to organize a charity bazaar or some such thing. I am going to attend."

"Now Kitty, no offense but I'm sure she didn't mean to invite you."

"Well, of course not, but ... I heard her say, I will expect ALL of you there tomorrow afternoon." She glanced up at the battered old clock that adorned a shabby wallpapered shelf in the corner of her room. "which is this afternoon." That poker look was back on her face; arch eyebrow, eyes narrowed and slight lift to mouth. "Let's see, what shall I wear that will shock the socks off those biddies."

"Hold it right there! You'll be in church, you have to show some respect."

"Oh, I will Cowboy, don't worry about that." She topped off his glass. "Drink that up and go home to bed. Come back here tomorrow night and we can discuss our success and figure out what to do next."

He finished his drink, as he was told, all the while looking at her. That yellow ruffled peignoir did little to hide what was underneath when she stood next to the lamp. His heart thumped extra hard and his heart wasn't the only body part that had reached that excited state. The Marshal extended a gentle hand with which to caress her, but she was quicker on the draw. She took his hand in hers and gave it a pump. "Right." She said, "Shake on it," and they did.

GS GS GS

That was how it had happened. For an honorable man like Matt Dillon, a shake was a binding contract, he couldn't back out now. Resting on his hard cot, he heaved a frustrated sigh. The gas street lamp outside his office flickered in the wind, dark shadows danced across the jailhouse wall and an image of Kitty Russell in her yellow peignoir danced with them and then he smiled for he remembered she expected him to come back tomorrow night.


End file.
